What You've Done To Me
by Grandoverlord
Summary: Post CoLS, I think we can guess where this is going. Malec/Magnus angst. Something that's been sitting on my hard drive for too long, now. .


A golden liquid swirled around in his clear crystal champagne flute, murky and definitely not a human drink. What gave it away, he wondered, as something not quite so mundane? Perhaps it was the sweet, burnt sugar scent of magic that wafted off of it in droves. It was something he had come to associate with the arcane. He watched it blearily, his split pupils eyes glazed over from the previous 3 glasses of said substance.

Magnus sighed, a gust of blue smoke drifting lazily out of his mouth. Damned fey drinks always had a side effect. He swatted the flute away in disgust, watching it spill over his cheap ikea table. Despite the fact he had glamored it to look like it had cost more than 20 bucks, it was nothing to cry about if he got a little stain on it. Absently, he wondered if the drink was the reason a hole was being burned through it. It couldn't be though. It was probably just reacting to something he had spilled on it earlier so it wasn't entirely this new drink's fault.

His thoughts were wandering again, which, he supposed, was the point of that ridiculous concoction in the first place. Now that he realized though, he was pulled right back into the same endless cycle of thoughts that had inhabited his thoughts for the last 200 odd years.

He had finally thought that he had found the one- a soul mate with who he could spend the rest of eternity. Someone who knew how to talk to him as if he were a real person, who needed no instruction on how to gain his affection; that adorable, blush and his shy smile that had made him who he was. Whenever Alec had taken his hand at first, he had looked at Magnus and actually asked permission, completely earnest. Magnus would chuckle and lean forward, and feather a kiss across his perfect lips.

But of course, they were nothing- _nothing- _compared to his endless blue eyes, the color of nothing. Nothing would ever come close to the subtle brilliance of them, not in the thousand years that Magnus had lived. And not a thing in the next thousand either, though he doubted he would last that long alone. He had loved every bit of his Shadowhunter; from his unkempt black hair right now to the callused feet that were surprisingly ticklish. Magnus had adored him with every bit of his being.

So why was he alive and alone? How was that fair? He had been asking himself that since the funeral, when a little bit of him died too. Was there a soul mate for everyone? He had heard that a hundred times over his years, but what happened if you screwed it up?

Before Alec, it had taken him 200 years to find someone who cared about him. 500 to find someone who loved him. After Alec? There was no after Alec. Magnus Bane had gone clear off the radars and started living a life of recluse whenever he could. Jace and Clary and Isabelle were all dead. Simon was probably still out there somewhere, wandering and wondering where it all went wrong, just like him.

Magnus, at times, found himself jealous of Alec. Not because he had finally escaped, although it wouldn't have been hard for him to do that, but because he had been so damn _lucky._ It took 800 years for him to find Alec; someone who loved him for who his was, not because of his sparkles or his powers. Perhaps being alive so long had made him desperate, or just more receptive. That's what Alec had always thought. Magnus had known, but hadn't said anything about it.

800 years was a long time without someone to love. Magnus had begun to doubt the existence of real love, but there went Alec, getting it on his first try. Unless he counted Jace, which Magnus most definitely didn't. Alec had only had to go 18 years, and he had had his family with him every single step of the way.

Just the thought of his lost Nephilim brought for the desire for another shot of something strong. Maybe something that brought on some nice hallucinations. It had been a while since he had seen him.

He hadn't slept in three straight days because he knew exactly what he would dream about. Not what, who. It was the same dream every time. He had killed enough of his brain cells that it couldn't come up with anything new these days.

It started out pleasant enough with him and Alec having a picnic in Brocelind plain years after the battle. They'd be chatting aimlessly about nothing at all, but his face would suddenly get dark and he would look away. When Magnus gently took his chin and turned his head back towards him, he'd be horrified to find the skin melting down Alec's face and over his hands, staining them red. "You killed me." He would say, and Magnus would wake up in a cold sweat, unable to return to that same dream time and time again.

"Alexander Lightwood…" Magnus murmured, his words slurred under the influence of faerie drink.

"You've killed me too."


End file.
